Behind her
by Bookjunk
Summary: Rebecca learns something. One-shot. Rebecca/Paul


**Behind her**

Rebecca thought about other people a lot. When the people she thought about were fairly well-adjusted she never got very far, though. She scratched the surface and that was it. Case in point, her colleagues. It was difficult to determine their inner workings. She always began by trying to figure out how they felt about her. They were all protective of her in their own unique ways.

Melody in her characteristically la di da, nothing-deserves-to-be-taken-serious way. The day before, Rebecca had overheard her trying to start an office betting pool titled 'How many times will Rebecca get kidnapped this year?' There were no takers, but Danny had looked tempted. When Mel had spotted her standing there with a raised eyebrow, she hadn't even blinked.

'You have to admit that you're not so good at not getting kidnapped,' she'd offered, while the others held their breath.

'Kidnapping is bad?' Rebecca had joked. That had earned her a few awkward guffaws. Paul hadn't looked amused.

Danny was maybe most protective of her, but he hid it underneath his casually flippant manner. She could imagine him saying something like, 'Rebecca got kidnapped? Must be Tuesday.' He probably had a slightly derisive nickname for her too. The machine? The robot? Rebecca knew that Danny and Mel talked about her behind her back. That didn't bother her. One day - after they'd stop seeing her as fragile – they'd do it in front of her and she still wouldn't mind.

Web was a typical example of the tough love approach, which - honestly - bordered on victim blaming. Not that Rebecca cared one way or another. At least he pulled no punches.

They were her aunt, her big brother, her stern father. And then there was Paul.

His protectiveness came with that rarest and most precious of all commodities: respect. He was there _if_ she needed him, not _when_. He trusted her judgement. It made her feel uncomfortable, because she didn't know whether she knew what she was doing. She didn't know where the line was.

Paul was an unknown quantity. Had he ever experienced the slow fade? Rebecca thought the others probably had. Most people had. The fade from horrified to horny wasn't exactly unusual. She might have felt it herself if she hadn't been so young when she had been taken. Anyway, because everyone felt so protective of her she thought about how they would have felt if they had hurt her and discovered that they enjoyed it.

Mel would have been tickled by this glimpse at her dark side. Tickled was her reaction to everything.

Danny would have felt guilty.

Web would have been fascinated. He would have analysed the situation and his feelings.

Paul would... Well, she didn't know, did she? And what do you do when you don't know something? You ask.

(***)

'Have you ever hurt a woman?'

It was late. Half the lights in the building were already off and Paul had just finished a phone call with his wife. The floor was empty, except for the two of them. He glanced at Rebecca, uneasily.

'You don't mean their feelings, do you?' he guessed. She shook her head. The lines in his face deepened as he considered the question and she actually got a little excited. Maybe he wasn't so different after all.

'I once accidentally elbowed a girl in the eye during our first and last date. Does that count? Oh, and my college girlfriend was always complaining about how I slept on her hair,' he told her. They looked at each other across their desks.

'But that's not what you mean either,' Paul said.

'No.'

'Then no.'

'Have you ever _wanted _to hurt a woman?'

It had been her intention to ask if he's ever hurt – or wanted to hurt – someone. That might have been too broad a question. Ten years of this work: of course he'd hurt someone. Woman, on the other hand, was too specific. She wasn't asking about suspects and he had known that from the start, but it was a little late to change course now.

'Rebecca…'

'Will you please answer the question?' she asked, careful not to plead. The conversation was clearly creeping him out. However, he was willing to satisfy her morbid curiosity. His eyes stayed on her as he spoke as truthfully as possible.

'Physically? No.'

She nodded. So, he hadn't. Yet. But would he? Her tongue flicked across her lips, wetting them. His eyes watched her when she leaned forward.

'If a woman asked you to hurt her, what would you do?'

Paul closed his eyes briefly, looking pained.

'What woman? Who would ask me to do something as horrible as that?' he replied, louder than was necessary. Her eyes widened. Paul heaved a weary sigh, stood up and shrugged into his coat. He strode past her.

'It wouldn't be so bad. Not after the fade,' she countered. He stopped, turned around slowly.

'The fade?'

'That's when you start to like it,' she explained. For a moment, Paul was speechless. He approached her and looked at her with concern.

'I wouldn't,' he said, finally.

'They always do,' she whispered. He kneeled in front of her, shaking his head. Grabbing the armrests of her chair, he stared into her eyes.

'I wouldn't,' he stated again, vehemently. He was perfect. He would hate it. Satisfied, she took his right hand into her own.

'Please, Paul,' she said, calm and flat. 'Please.'

He seemed about to cry, regarding his hand in hers. Yes, he would hate it, which was why she wanted it to be him.

(***)

It doesn't hurt, Rebecca thought. It was true. It didn't hurt. His fingers were bruising her wrists, but it didn't hurt. His weight was nearly crushing her, but it didn't hurt. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt.

Paul was almost gentle, despite of what she had asked. There was no violence to his strength. It was just the old feeling of helplessness that was causing her pain. He _could_ hurt her, if he really wanted to. She thought about telling him to stop, but she couldn't because he would listen.

'Becky,' he breathed, as she had requested. His voice trembled. She opened her eyes and saw her pain reflected in his eyes. It sent a little thrill down her spine.

'Stop,' she said, softly. Immediately, his weight was gone. She sat up and inhaled and exhaled a few times to calm her breathing.

'Are you alright?' he inquired. She turned to him. His short hair was in complete disarray. He looked worried.

'I was starting to enjoy it.'

'That's nothing to be ashamed of,' he responded. He sounded embarrassed. When she saw how much trouble it cost him to hold her gaze, Rebecca lowered her eyes and smiled faintly.

'No. I wasn't enjoying that. I liked… _hurting you_,' she explained. His mouth formed a surprised o-shape. Allowing himself to fall back, his head sank into the pillow.

'How did it feel?' Paul asked.

'Wrong. Or rather, as if it was supposed to feel wrong, but somehow didn't,' she admitted. It was a confusing swirl of emotions. She couldn't pick out one that captured the entirety of the feeling. Paul frowned.

'If this is what you need, I'll continue. I'm happy to help.'

'No, you aren't. That's the point,' she reminded him. He laughed.

'You're right.'

His eyes searched her face. A long time ago, painting had been one of her hobbies. She vividly remembered colour appearing where brush met paper. Tender strokes. Tiny soft hairs tickling. That's what his eyes felt like. Like eye lashes against sensitive skin. She touched her lips with her fingertips. His gaze followed them and came to rest there.

Before she could think about what this would mean and hesitate, she pressed a kiss to his mouth. Startled, he stayed still. The feeling of his warm lips underneath her own filled her with clarity. A knowledge that she hadn't possessed before. She would have called it wisdom if it weren't for the fact that everyone but her would have already recognised it when they were standing in front of it.

Oh, that's where the line was.

The end.


End file.
